


More Than Anything Else

by LeighKelly



Series: NYU!verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeighKelly/pseuds/LeighKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their first Valentine's Day as a married couple, Santana comes down with a stomach virus that puts a damper on her plans with Brittany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Anything Else

It’s some time around five-thirty in the morning, when Brittany feels Santana violently wrench from sleep beside her, shaking her, startling her, as she scrambles from the bed and makes her way to the bathroom. Though it takes Brittany’s sleep clouded mind a moment to register what was going on, as soon as she hears the sound of her wife’s vomiting, she is up on her feet and rushing to her side. Brittany wants to cry as soon as she sees Santana crunched up over the toilet, heaving, and crying as she does.

“Oh, honey.” Brittany kneels behind her, gathering up the dark hair that falls across her face and pulling it back as she continues to retch. Santana’s skin burns hot against her palms, and she rubs her back soothingly, though it breaks her heart, because there was nothing she can do, and nothing she hates in the world more than seeing Santana sick or hurt. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“What the _fuck_  did we eat last night?” Santana groans, tears falling out of her eyes, kind of a baby when she doesn’t feel well, and then throws up again.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart, I don’t think it’s anything you ate. I think you’re sick.”

“Ugh.” She drops her head against the toilet seat and whimpers. “Britt, it’s-”

“I know, it’s okay, Santana, that’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

“But it’s our first.”

“And we’ll have dozens more.” Brittany reassures her, aching inside while Santana gags, and finally collapses back against her.

“I don’t think I have anything left in me.”

“Can you sit on your own?” Brittany asks, and Santana nods weakly as her wife slowly moves from her, standing at the sink to fill her a cup of water. When she brings the cup to Santana’s lips, she urges her to drink slowly, in hopes that she won’t bring it all right back up. “Do you want me to help you back to bed?”

When Santana affirms that’s what she wants, Brittany gently gathers her up into her arms, so glad that she is so light and small. Santana’s arms wrap around her neck, and Brittany holds her tight, lying her back on the pillows and frowning as Santana shivers from the fever that wracks her body. Her eyes are droopy, and she hugs Brittany’s pillow to her stomach, moaning softly at how sick she is. Softly, Brittany kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, whispering that she loves her, and is going to take care of her, and that she’ll bring a bucket in case she can’t make it to the bathroom if she’s sick again. It isn’t long after Brittany leaves the bedroom again, that Santana passes out, curled as small as she can be in a ball, and though Brittany hates leaving her alone, there is nothing in the apartment that can help keep Santana hydrated, and it’s better she goes to the store while she was asleep.

Only bothering to brush her teeth, Brittany remains in her heart pajama bottoms and pulls on a heavy coat to walk the two blocks over to Gristedes. The entrance to the store is decorated in glittering red and pink hearts, but Brittany barely has time to register it as she grabs a shopping cart, and begins filling it with red Gatorade, ginger ale, crackers, peppermint tea, and finally, a few cans of Campbell’s chicken and hearts soup- she figures, maybe if Santana’s up for some food later, she can totally still make her a super romantic Valentine’s Day dinner in bed. She’s probably never moved so quickly in a grocery store in her life, usually finding herself distracted by anything and everything, but with her phone clutched in her hand, in case Santana calls, she’s in and out in less than ten minutes, hauling the four bags back home, and  _maybe_ stopping to buy flowers at the deli on the corner. Peering into the bedroom, she’s so glad to find Santana still asleep, and after putting the rest of the groceries away, she sets some crackers on a plate, and fills a glass with Gatorade and ice, hoping she can get something in Santana’s stomach when she wakes up.

Brittany isn’t really worried about catching anything from Santana, both because her immune system is great, and because really, if anything was going to get her sick, it was going to be their activities late into the night before, not lying with Santana in her arms. Setting the things she’d prepared back on the nightstand, Brittany crawls up into bed, and rests her lips against Santana’s temple, checking for fever the way her mom always had. Santana’s still hot, even more sweaty than she’d been when when Brittany had left, and she looks nothing if not uncomfortable. She stirs a little at Brittany’s contact, and her hand reaches out, trying to grip Brittany’s. Immediately, Brittany laces their fingers together, and squeezes tightly,  _I’m sorry you’re sick, I wish I could do something to make it better, I love you_. In her sleep, Santana’s whole body curls into Brittany’s seeking her comfort, shivering despite her body heat, whimpering into her shoulder, and just letting Brittany engulf her, and pull the comforter tight around them both.

Most of the day is spent with Santana curled into Brittany, when she’s not otherwise occupied with retching and trying to take slow, pained sips of whatever Brittany brings for her, and crying that she ruined Valentine’s Day (which Brittany continuously refutes, because  _it’s just a day, honey, I already called and changed our reservations for next week, and I’m with you, and I’m taking care of you, and that matters way more than a fancy dinner_ ). It’s late in the afternoon, and Santana is asleep again, absolutely spent, but at least having managed to get an entire mug of tea and three crackers down before passing out. Brittany sits up beside her, textbook in her lap, flipping through the pages on Euler bricks, still trying to work out her cubes in her head, and occasionally glancing at her wife, still so gorgeous, even sick, and with what is quite possibly vomit in her hair. When she come to again, she’s not whimpering, so much as making the cutest noises Brittany has ever heard, and stretching her arms out over her head

“How long have a been asleep?” She rasps out, eyes still closed.

“Almost three hours, Rip Van Winkle.” Brittany teases a little, leaning to press a soft kiss to a much cooler forehead. “Your fever’s gone down a lot. Do you feel any better?”

“I still feel like death, but a lot less nauseous. I think that tea really helped.”

“I’m telling you, my mom may say she’s no genius, but she knows what she’s talking about.”

“Please remind me to send your mom an Edible Arrangement.” Santana laughs weakly, draping her arm over Brittany’s stomach.

“She actually sent us one, but I put it in the fridge until you feel better. I didn’t want to touch the chocolate pineapples, since I know they’re your fave.”

“Ugh, your mom sent us a Valentine’s Day gift, and I’m too sick to move. God, I’m sorry Britt.”

“Hey, if you keep apologizing, I’m going to get out of bed. And I would kind of much rather be in here with my Valentine. I’m just glad you’re feeling a little less sick.”

“Me too.” Santana runs her hand through her hair, then stops, scrunching up her face in disgust. “Oh my god, I’m actually filthy right now. I wish I could stand up to take a shower, but seriously, my whole body aches.”

“How about a bath? It might be good for the aches and stuff.” Brittany suggests. “Plus, you’ll be really clean, and I can put some new sheets on the bed.”

“I love you, Britt. I love you so much.” Santana looks in her eyes and tells her sincerely. “You know that, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do.” She kisses her parched lips, and brushes her nose with Santana’s. “And I love you so much too.”

“I know it’s totally not the kind of sexy bath I’d planned for us after dinner tonight, but do you maybe want to…?”

“I’d love that.” Brittany nods. “I’m going to run the water, I’ll be right back.”

Going into their bathroom, Brittany turns on the water, and avoids adding any bubble bath, worried that the scent might bring back Santana’s nausea. While it fills, she pulls down their fluffiest towels, the ones they use for romantic nights, rather than everyday showers, and lights a few candles, hoping to allow Santana to relax, and not feel guilty over something entirely out of her control- but Santana’s a total sucker for Valentine’s Day, though she used to deny it, and Brittany knows that she’d been planning for weeks. When she feels like the bathroom is all ready, she lowers the lights so it’s aglow in soft candle light, and heads back to the bedroom, and finds Santana sitting up on the edge of the bed, massaging her temples, and trying to psych herself into standing up. Quickly, Brittany goes to her side, and wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her to her feet.

“You okay?” She asks, concerned.

“A little dizzy still.” Santana tells her, and Brittany walks slowly, helping her into the bathroom, where she lets out a tiny gasp. “Britt, you made my sick bath romantic.”

“I just wanted you to know that this day is just about being with the person that you love, and I’m with you, and we’re married, and that’s the best thing.”

“You’re just…you’re kind of perfect.”

“I just love you a lot.” Brittany shrugs. “C’mon, let’s get in before it gets cold.”

Santana lifts her arms up, and Brittany helps her out of the long t-shirt she’s spent the day in, letting her step over the side of the tub, and ease into the water that somehow still gives her shivers. Once she’s settled, Brittany is quick to rid herself of her clothes, and she slides in behind her wife, holding her bare body close, and letting her lean all of her still limp weight against her, glad she’s feeling better than she was, but hating that she’s still listless and sore. Wanting to help a little, if she can, she gently massages up and down Santana’s arms, and she’s tender, washing her body, her hair, her face, trying to make her feel like a new person. It’s not often she takes care of Santana to this extreme, but Brittany’s glad that she’s the one person Santana allows herself to be this vulnerable with. Once she washes herself, as best as she can with Santana lying on her, Brittany adds a little more hot water from the tap, and she kisses the back of Santana’s neck and eases herself out from the bath, helping to rest Santana’s head against the back of the tub (and kind of wishing that they had one of those horrible inflatable bath pillows that her mother used to have).

She knows Santana wants to soak longer, after all, who doesn’t, after a day like she’s had? Wrapping herself in one of the towels, Brittany leaves her, promising to be back soon, and hoping to put her operation Save Santana’s Valentine’s Day into effect, she quickly throws on sweats and a tank-top, pulls her hair into a messy bun, and changes the sheets, before she heads out into the kitchen. Though she’s not sure how much Santana will be able to eat, Brittany heats the soup, smiling at the hearts that float in the broth, and toasts some bread, before cutting it into shapes that match, and spreading just a little bit of strawberry jam on the cutouts. She feels a little sappy as she fills two bowls of the soup, pours some more of the red Gatorade into their wedding champagne flutes, and sets everything, along with the flowers she’d long forgotten, on a tray to bring to the bedroom, but it’s a good kind of sappy, the best kind of sappy, because it’s all for Santana.

“Santana?” Brittany calls out, setting the tray on their nightstand. “Are you ready to get out?”

“Mmhm.” She answers, and Brittany finds her, head almost submerged, because the water feels good, and she’s glad to be in it. Offering a hand, Brittany pulls her to her feet, and wraps her up in a towel, smiling when Santana leans in to press another gentle kiss on her lips. “Good bath.”

“I am the best at turning on the water.” Brittany teases, and Santana rolls her eyes a little. “I have one more surprise for you.”

“Brittany.” Santana’s voice is soft and sweet, the one that makes Brittany’s insides feel all melty. “How are you even doing this?”

“Magic, obviously.” She winks. “Now I know you want to put on flannel pants and my sweatshirt and get back into bed, so lets go.”

After the bath, Santana feels more capable of dressing herself, and she does, before crawling under the cool, clean sheets, and catching a glimpse of what Brittany prepared for them for dinner. Though her stomach’s still a little unsettled, it also feels really, really empty, and the fact that her wife made her chicken and hearts soup, on Valentine’s Day, makes her swoon a little. It’s all silly, and sweet, and beautiful, and so them, and propping herself up on pillows against the headboard, she can’t help but beam at her gorgeous wife as she hands her the glass, etched with their anniversary and initials, and raising her own.

“To us, on our first Valentine’s Day.” Brittany grins, clinking her glass with her wife’s.

“To sickness, and health, and school craze, and lazy weekends. To you and me, and to love, all the love in the world. Happy Valentine’s Day, Brittany.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Santana.”

They drink, slowly for Santana, because she doesn’t want to risk anything, and she gushes a little over the perfect, perfect dinner that her wife made, over the flowers, over being the absolute luckiest woman in the entire world, to have married Brittany, and to spend every day and night as her wife, her partner, her love. She only manages a few spoons of the soup, and a bite of the toast, but it doesn’t make it any less perfect. When she’s through, she shuffles back down to her spot, her head against Brittany’s chest, Brittany’s arms around her, rubbing her stomach soothingly, and Santana’s eyes drift closed, all her worries gone, the thoughts of the jewelry box hidden in the back of her drawer, of dinner plans, of passionate sex, the furthest thing from her mind. It’s just her and Brittany, together, it’s her and Brittany, in bed, in love, and happy, even when she feels like absolute crap, and that matters more than anything else.


End file.
